


Choose

by highlytrainedfangirl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Moriarty is obsessive, One sided sheriarty, Referenced John/Mary, TJLC, The Final Problem, based on that line from the second trailer, but not really, moriarty is a psychopath and Sherlock hates him, plot speculation, that one, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 15:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9277274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highlytrainedfangirl/pseuds/highlytrainedfangirl
Summary: Moriarty gives Sherlock a choice: choose him or shoot someone he loves.“He's jealous,” whispered syllables hung in the air.At the words John stilled, face a portrait of confusion, “jealous? Who would Moriarty even be jealous of?”“You.”





	

Perhaps answering a mysterious summons to an underground bunker was not the smartest idea Sherlock had ever had, but it wasn't the first time he'd done so and he'd survived so far. At least that was his logic when he made his decision.   
Walking though dark corridors in silence he longed for John's presence by his side, missing the warmth and familiarity of his companion. He hadn't spoken to John since Mary's death. The ever-present hollow space that hung by Sherlock's side threatened to drag him down into an even darker abyss.  
Maybe that could account for his reckless behaviour. Anything to distracted himself.

Only the clatter of shoes on concrete was heard as he followed the brightly-lit section of hallway down to a wide set of open doors. The moment he stepped into the barren room, the doors behind him slammed and another, much smaller door slipped open.  
The moment it did his heart stopped.  
There, face a teasing smirk of false innocence, stood Mary.

“How does it feel doing this the other way around for once?” The smirk on her lips only grew at his stunned silence. “Oh come on Sherlock, it was obvious. How did the genius detective not see?”  
She slowly walked towards him and Sherlock had to resist the urge to back away. “Mary, what are you doing? How are you alive?”  
The questions drifted out of his throat, small and fragile. His mind was working slower than usual due to the shock, but he was still already forming theories. But no… no… they couldn't be true. They wouldn't. That would mean Mary was- he'd trusted her. He'd trusted her for John's sake. Even after discovering her past he tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, give her a second chance.  
The woman in front of him was cold, calculating; it was the same woman who had stood in Leinster Gardens, the same woman who shot him in Magnussen’s office. This was a shark.  
“It's easy to fake a death, Sherlock, you should know. Easy as staging a play. And I really did enjoy acting in this one.”  
Only one word was able to force its way past quivering lips, “why?”  
With a huff of a laugh Mary turned to look at the door she'd entered through and they both watched as it once again slid open to reveal another ghost.

“Hello dear, did you miss me?”  
Every cell in Sherlock's body turned to ice. “… you're… your dead, you can't- you can't be…”  
“Surprise!” The other man smiled wide, walking forwards, pushing closer to the terrified detective.   
“It's so easy to fake suicide,” Moriarty proclaimed with a grin.  
Mary cut in when it was clear Sherlock was capable of nothing more than skittish babbling, “you said yourself, Emilia Ricoletti. All it takes is a blood bag, a well-timed gun shot, and some willing participant…”  
The pieces in Sherlock's head were spinning desperately to find an answer. “You were helping him. You were one of the snipers.” The last part escaped him without thought. She had been there, the one of the nearby buildings, a perfect position to observe and shoot a blood bag as Moriarty staged suicide. But that would mean…”You were the sniper aiming at John.”  
Mary looked thrilled at his revelation, “maybe not the most romantic first meeting, I'll admit.”  
Eyes flicked frantically between Mary and Moriarty. The world’s only consulting criminal and someone he had previously considered a _retired_ assassin. The two people who had somehow both managed to fool him utterly and completely. He knew deep down that the main reason they'd been able to manipulate him was his own mental weakness. Moriarty had used the fears gripping his heart to stop him from ever daring to question that he might not be dead. And Mary- he'd forced himself to trust her, because John loved her, John needed him to trust her.  
That's where he failed. He let himself be blinded and now he stood, helpless, alone, trapped underground, surrounded only by the panic clawing into his chest.  
“You still haven't answered,” he wished his voice wasn't so feeble, “why do this?”  
Moriarty only advanced, “I've said before, we belong together, Sherlock. I tried to show it to you, tired to make you see. But no matter what I did, you'd always run back to John, back to your little pet. So I enlisted a little help to remove my problem.” The grin was gone. In its place was a blood-chilling expression, shrouded in malicious shadows. “Killing him would be too easy, too boring. No, no, that wouldn’t be enough. I made him abandon you."  
Sherlock's eyes locked on Mary and all of a sudden he understood. Because now he really had lost John.   
The blonde woman took a deceptive light-hearted tone as she began listing, “step 1: make you leave him. Step 2: make him love me. Step 3: make him lose me. Step 4: make him blame you.” Her voice dropped in pitch and the sound was taunting, mocking, “you played exactly into ours hands. Thank you.”

His head was spinning and no coherent words could form. They were right. He'd had lost John. Without John by his side he was well and truly alone. The words must have successfully made it out because Moriarty stretched his arms out towards him.  
“You're not alone Sherlock: you have me. You'll always have me. Can't you see that now.”  
“I don't want you.” The detective willed his voice not to break as he spoke. In response Moriarty only released a sigh. “Do it your way then.”

Before he could do anything more, Moriarty and Mary left the room through the steel door they had previously used. Behind his the double doors once again swung open to reveal two figures being dragged along by heavily-armed men dressed all in black. The indignant spluttering of his brother and angry curses of John were instantly recognisable. Between them a box was placed on a high table, before the three of them were left alone in the room.  
Moriarty’s voice, though muffled by the door, came through clearly, "you have twenty minutes. Choose, Sherlock. Either choose me, or shoot one of them."  
He froze. Ice trickled its way through his veins and halted all blood flow. No. NO.  
John seemed to share his sentiments because the army doctor was throwing his body weight against the door to no avail. Only when he heard the other man cry out in pain did Sherlock rush over and pull him away.   
“John don't, there's no use.”  
The shorter man only gave a frustrated sigh. “Why are we even here? I mean, that was Moriarty, actual, real, _alive_ Moriarty.”  
“Yes. Like I said he wants me to,” Sherlock turned his back to John; he couldn't look him in the eyes, “ ‘choose him’.”  
John seemed to take a moment to think through what he was about to say. It was clear when he spoke he understood the implication of Sherlock's words, or at least partially understood. “So Moriarty is forcing you to shoot one of us because he wants you to ‘choose him’ and knows you won't? How does that make sense, even to him?” John shot a glance of disbelief towards Mycroft who had remained suspiciously silent.  
“It's not just that,” the words were out of Sherlock's mouth before he could stop them. He knew no matter how hard he tried, he knew, John wouldn't let it drop. “He's jealous,” whispered syllables hung in the air.  
At the words John stilled, face a portrait of confusion, “jealous? Who would Moriarty even be jealous of?”

“You.”

Who knew it was possible for one word to stop everything. The men in the room each stood motionless, waiting for the next sound to finally shatter the suffocating silence.   
“I love you.”

It felt like both John and Sherlock's hearts simultaneously skipped a beat. But before anything more could be said an angered “15 minutes!” Came through the door. “15 minutes, Sherlock. Choose.”

**Author's Note:**

> CLIFFHANGER yeah I hate me too. Will there be a second chapter? Maybe. When will it be? God knows.
> 
> I started writing this the day before tld but never got round to finishing it, so some things don't quite match canon, but I see this as a possibility for tfp.


End file.
